


LA Devotee

by sobachka



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Actors AU, F/M, Fake Dating, Mal's a bitch, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Nikolina - Freeform, Not much tho, Sturmhond alias, There's so Much Drama, plus Alina has parents, some strong language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: Alina Starkov is a broke actress working at Morozova's Auto Repair Shop to make a living. One day, she gets an offer from a budding company called Volkvolny Productions, where the Executive Producer Sturmhond gives her the opportunity to shine. Things don't go according to plan, and Alina suddenly finds herself famous, chased by paparazzi, and in a fake relationship with Nikolai Lantsov. How did that happen?~Alina dropped her eyes to the paragraph beside his picture, where it stated that Nikolai Lantsov- ah, another Lantsov- would be stepping away from the family business and working on something of his own. Alina snorted, looking back at the picture. He even looked the part of a typical rich boy, and she had to wonder exactly how long he'd last without his daddy's money to cover him. Even if his daddy was a bastard with allegations against him, the man had an overflowing bank account.
Relationships: David Kostyk/Genya Safin, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Tamar Kir-Bataar/Nadia Zhabin, Zoya Nazyalensky/Mal Oretsev
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I absolutely love Nikolina, so I've written a drama-filled fake-dating actors au for everyone who loves these nerds as much as I do.  
> ~

Alina dumped her wrench into a box of tools by the entryway, wincing at the crashing sound of metal against metal. She flicked on the lights, illuminating the place around her. It was awfully small for an auto repair shop, but she supposed it didn't matter what the inside looked like, since the outside was where all the repairing was done. 

There were rows of shelves that contained small bits and pieces a person definitely didn't need for their car, but most people still chose to buy. Alina made her way past them, heading for the register at the back, where she settled into an old chair with peeling leather.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket, opening the screen and checking beyond the cracked surface for any notifications from her agent. Nothing.

She wanted to laugh, but she also wanted to burst into tears and the mixed desires just left her with an ache in her chest and a pounding headache at her right temple. She let out a bitter sigh, placing her elbows onto the counter and dropping her head into her hands.

_ Saints, _ she'd been a fool. It had all sounded so picturesque, move to LA, the city of Stars, get a dozen offers instantly, and maybe work a side job as a waitress just to come full circle with the stereotype. Instead, she had no acting offers in six months since she'd been asked to play the role of a mistress who gets caught in the act and then murdered by the angry wife in some cheesy movie she couldn't remember the name of. Four minutes of screen time, most of which was her laying still with an uncomfortably sticky substance over her chest, and then nothing since. 

And that's to say nothing of having to work in Morozova's drive-through auto repair shop, where she made hardly enough to pay rent.

Her life seemed to become more miserable the more she thought of it. Still, her mind went on to remind her that moving to LA was hardly her first mistake. That had been rejecting the offer to study Dramatic Arts at Juilliard, one of the most prestigious acting universities, that also happened to be in New York, to attend a state university with her boyfriend Mal.

Mal, who had dumped her during Senior year after cheating on her throughout all of Junior year. Mal, who had been her best friend all through high school. Mal, who was now acting in some ridiculous show about royalty and rich people's drama, with Zoya Nazyalensky, one of the biggest stars, and also one of those people god chose to bless with both looks and talents. Not that she was keeping tabs on him, or the people around him.

Not that she knew there'd been rumors the two had started dating.

Alina lifted her head. Saints, she needed to get out of her mind someday before her own thoughts killed her. She snatched a magazine from the nearest rack. There was a picture on the cover of a large man with heavy lidded blue eyes and a weak chin. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and stood before a castle that was likely his house, on his arm a woman in her mid-forties, with dye-blond hair and a fake smile, the picture likely edited around the lines of her red dress to make her appear curvier. 

In bold green letters across the front, the magazine stated: 'Alexander Lantsov now Facing Allegations of Sexual Assault: Could This Be It For The Lantsovs?'

Alina raised both brows. There was always some sort of scandal to be heard of from the higher class, but this one in particular was interesting. She racked her brain, trying to remember exactly why the name rang a bell in her memory.

When it clicked, her jaw dropped. Of course. Lantsov Productions. One of the most well-known movie production companies in all of America. She looked back at the man, the small smirk resting on his lips, and thought of all the times she'd watched those movies and wished for a day when she could act in something so grand.

_ Dodged that bullet, _ she thought now, flipping through the magazine. There was a lot of text, which she skimmed through, about the different offenses he was being charged with and more details and interviews with some women who had worked for him, each telling their own story. Alina felt something in her chest tighten, knowing how it would all end. No charges. Hush money. A bit of a stain on the reputation, but nothing that can't be washed away with time. That's just how it was, when you were a rich, white man living in the United States. 

Alina was about to close the magazine when she noticed a picture on the next page. This was a new face, a young and handsome one, with golden-blond hair and hazel eyes. She frowned. How did he fit into this story?

Alina dropped her eyes to the paragraph beside his picture, where it stated that Nikolai Lantsov- ah, another Lantsov- would be stepping away from the family business and working on something of his own. Alina snorted, looking back at the picture. He even looked the part of a typical rich boy, and she had to wonder exactly how long he'd last without his daddy's money to cover him. Even if his daddy was a bastard with allegations against him, the man had an overflowing bank account. Alina wasn't so sure  _ she _ would step away from her father if he had that much money to his name.

Not that her own family had any money, not would they be willing to share any of it with her.

Alina winced at the thought, closing the magazine on the smiling face of Nikolai Lantsov and setting it aside. She glanced at her phone again. Five minutes of distraction, and then she was right back to her depressing thoughts.

A cheery jingle, opposite to her mood, indicated the door had been opened. Alina looked up to see Alexei in the doorway, his dark hair matted to his forehead with sweat, he seemed to be dragging his body after him.

"Who," he asked slowly, "the  _ fuck _ thought it was a good idea to have an auto repair drive through  _ in the fucking summer _ ."

Alina felt her lips twitch up despite herself. Alexei was usually the more cheerful one between the two of them, but since the weather turned wicked nearly a month ago, he'd been in a mood worse than she was.

"You don't even know what heat looks like, weakling," she countered.

Alexei glared at her, his dark eyes narrowing "I don't care what kind of crap you had back in Arizona, Alina, this is worse. We don't get this kind of weather here."

Alina shrugged, knowing the argument was futile. How many times had she insisted her home state was by far the worst of the two, and how many times had it led Alexei into a frustrated rant about global warming that wound up with him making a dramatic exit into the outside heat?

"How about I take the next shift?" She asked instead. Alexei's whole face seemed to crumple with relief.

"Really?" He asked, the hopeful squeak in his voice returning him to the pre-summer version of himself she knew best.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, "yeah, just go inside and don't finish all the soda."

"I'll save you a Dr. Pepper! I know you love those!" He said excitedly.

Alina shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she slid past him, "sure, Lex."

It was long past dawn when Alina left Morozova's, her promised Dr. Pepper can in hand. She was sipping at the fizzing drink, her thoughts wandering as she walked down the dark streets. Half the streetlights were burnt out, and it left the road cast in shadows, drawing attention to the few squares of light dotting the apartments to her left. 

There was music streaming in from someone's window, a song in a language foreign to her ears, but that sounded lovely despite that. Spanish, maybe, or French, what did she know? Alina could hardly remember the few language classes she'd been forced to take in high school.

Mal had been good with languages, though. Picked up on them easily, and loved to learn, always beating the rest of the class and writing the best essays. He'd helped Alina with her assignments, then. Ana Kuya, the caretaker at her last foster home, had loved having him over, and she suspected Mal was the child she would rather the government entrust her with. For starters, he was a boy. Alina had failed that bit when she had popped out if the womb and the doctor had wrapped her in a soft pink blanket. But Mal was also charming, and smart, and ridiculously good looking. Even now, a part of Alina ached for the friendship they'd shared long before it broke for the years wasted by his side.

Alina was torn away from these thoughts by the sudden buzzing of her phone in her jeans pocket. She snatched it up quickly, reading the name. Cara, her agent, was calling.  _ Cara her agent was calling. _

Alina gasped, nearly dropping the Dr.Pepper as her fingers scrambled to click the green button and answer.

“Cara?” she answered, breathless.

“Starkov, doll, I got something for ya,” she said, and this time Alina did drop her drink, jumping away with surprise as the can hit the sidewalk and spilled into the crevices, drowning ants in its path.

“S-something?” she said, her mind unable to comprehend. She heard a light chuckle on the other end before Cara responded.

“Yes, something, and it could be good. They’re looking for new actors, fresh to the screen and whatnot- new company too, not one I've worked with before-”

The voice on the other end began to cut off slightly, and Alina cursed under her breath. That’s what she got for saving cash and buying a cheap phone.

“-and they- to get you down there- Monday-”

“Cara?” she said, a tad too loud, “can you email me the details, this place has bad service.”

The other end was silent for a moment before, “sure, I’ll have them sent your way, you just get home safe, doll.”

Alina smiled, and almost wished she could see the old woman that handled her affairs, “Thank you.”

Volkvolny Productions was, according to Wikipedia, a newly founded company based just west of Santa Monica. Alina used her forefinger and thumb to zoom into the picture of the building they wanted her to visit on Monday. It looked like a standard warehouse, painted light blue with the word 'Volkvolny' written in bold, silver lettering across the side and their symbol, the face of a wolf emerging from a wave, just beneath it.

It wouldn't help her acting in the least, she knew, if she memorized the whole place's history, but she couldn't help it. Alina had been obsessively reading over it since the second she'd stepped foot in her apartment.

And besides, it wasn't as if she had any lines to memorize.

That was one of the most frustrating aspects of this. See, most of the time, even with that mistress role, she received a script at least two weeks before she was expected to come to the studio- and even then, just to audition.

But here, the email Cara had sent her gave her little more than their phone call had. A little about the company's enthusiasm for supporting new actors, and how they would love for her to stop by on Monday since her 'recent roles had caught their attention.'

That bit was obviously bull, but she wasn't about to complain if there was an offer on the table.

What was the saying? Success is the sum of small efforts. This was a pretty damn small effort, but it was an effort all the same. And besides, it meant she could take a day off work at Morozova's, which was always a bonus.

But until Monday decided to come up, Alina had to work. She set her alarm and put aside her phone, her dreams the strangest mix of wolves and hazel eyes.

Alina reached the studio an hour early. She hadn't meant to be there so soon, hell she hadn't even meant to wake up until then, but with her mind buzzing with excitement and nerves, there was hardly a chance at sleep. It did leave her with some pretty evident dark circles under her eyes, the kind of thing her cheap drugstore makeup couldn't conceal, but she was there and that's what mattered.

Hopefully it was.

She shifted from foot to foot nervously, the takeaway coffee cup in her hand burning her fingertips, but she could hardly focus on that. She was there. She was definitely not good enough to be in a place so grand, so  _ large _ . The pictures really didn't do the place justice.

Alina noticed the symbol, just beneath the word Volkvolny, the wolf that broke through the surface of the waves with a howl. For a 'budding' company the place seemed…. Well off.

She tried to remember what she knew about investors and businesses, but it really wasn't her area of expertise.

_ Quit stalling _ , she snapped at herself, forcing her legs to move. The only entryway she could see was a small door where a large security guard, dressed in a dark blue uniform, stood, staring intently at the wall and not paying any attention to the person beside him. As Alina approached, she noticed that the other person, thinner and smaller, was also a security guard. A girl, she realized, with cropped black hair and bright hazel eyes bordering on gold.

The larger security guard had the same eyes, as well as a particular set to the jaw.

The girl noticed Alina first, or maybe the guy had seen her but chose to ignore her presence, either way, she nodded at her, stepping away from where she had been leaning against the wall, hand resting on her gun.

"I'm here for the audition? Am I in the right place?" Alina asked, cringing at the words. She must have looked like an idiot, arriving an hour early to an audition she didn't have a script for. She would probably end up being cast as an extra, or something significantly less important.

The girl inclined her head, "just head right through there, a pretty blonde girl will show you to the waiting room."

Alina could have crumpled to the ground with relief. Somehow, despite the fact that she had rechecked the location and the company's name, and then her own name on the email, she had feared the place was wrong or it was the wrong day, or that something, anything would go opposite to her plans and she would end up both jobless and humiliated.

"Oh, great, thanks!" She said, stepping into the entryway that led to a narrow hall. She continued down it, her sneakers squishing against the floor noisily until she reached a small counter where a young woman sat, blonde hair tied into a neat bun and thick black rimmed glasses pushed up her nose. She was engrossed in a book when Alina approached.

"Excuse me?" She said, startling the girl out of her reading, "they told me to come here?"

The girl blinked at Alina.

"Well, I mean she- the security guard- said to find the pretty blonde? I'm guessing that's you?"

At this, the girl's cheeks pinked, and she stood, setting down her novel. 

"I take it you're here for the audition?" she asked, apparently choosing to ignore the compliment. She clicked open a phone that lay on the counter and squinted at the numbers.

"You do realize it starts in an hour?"

Alina felt her own cheeks heat at that "oh I know, but I was just… in the area" she gave what she hoped was a convincing smile, but the girl only rolled her eyes and muttered something about overachieving actors.

Alina ignored this, following the woman to a separate room with chairs lined against the walls in a very hospital-waiting room style. There were even magazines on a small wooden table in the center. The only decoration the room had was the company name and symbol along the right wall.

There was no one else in the room, so Alina sat down on the nearest chair and waited. She slipped out her phone and played Candy Crush for a while, then began scrolling through Instagram, until finally she just set it back down and picked up a magazine.

It was the same one they'd had at Morozova's, about the Lantsov family. Out of boredom, Alina began to skim through it once again, reading through the bits about each member.

There was Alexander and his wife Maria. They had two sons, Vasily, a man who took after his father with all his worst features, and Nikolai, who- and this Alina found very interesting- was rumored not to be a Lantsov at all. In fact, the magazine hinted that it was this reason that led the young man to step away from the family business.

Saints, she thought, the load of drama that could ensue when people had money was catastrophic.

"Miss Starkov?" A voice called, startling Alina out of her thoughts. She looked up to see the same blonde girl standing there, this time with a clipboard in hand.

"Are you ready?" She asked, and Alina all but leapt to her feet. Ready? Saints no, she wasn't, but it was then or never again. She picked up her phone off the table and glanced at the time.

It had only been half an hour, but it seemed they weren't going to make her wait until others arrived.

"Yeah," she said quickly, "I'm ready,"

The girl's mouth stretched into a thin smile and she nodded at a nearby door that read 'Staff.'

"Just go on over there," she told Alina, as her gaze trailed back to the magazine Alina had been reading. A smile touched her lips, but she said nothing.

Her palms were getting sweaty, and she quickly wiped them on her jeans as she opened the door.

Mal used to always know what to do, how to talk to her when it came to these things. He knew just what to say, where to go. Even when she didn't realize what she needed, Mal knew. Mal had always known.

The room was made up of two parts, a side for the producers and one for the actors. There was a white screen on the actors' side with bright lights cast upon it. On the other side were two large cameras trained on the screen, and some studio lights. There was a long desk, too, where she found the girl security guard perched on its edge, and behind it sat two men, the first was lanky and tall, like a teenager first going through his growth spurt, with big round glasses and messy brown hair. He was fiddling with some piece of machinery while the other man, this one with bright red hair and a broken nose, spoke to him. The second had both his legs thrown on top of the desk, his arms folded behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. He was dressed in the oddest teal coat, lined with gold buttons, that seemed to be straight out of an antiques shop.

None of them looked up when she entered.

Alina stood awkwardly for a second before clearing her throat. They stopped talking, then all eyes were on her, and she suddenly felt like she was back in her high school theatre class, presenting a poem to a hundred teenagers all looking up at her through wide, judgmental, or so they seemed to her, eyes.

They didn't seem to be judging her though, the few people at the desk. They were all watching her with interest, waiting for her to speak.

"The door was open. Bad idea, by the way, you never know who might stumble in here," she said, wincing inwardly at her words. She couldn't just say her name and ask them what to do, right? Ana Kuya’s voice came back to her, sharp and unyielding,  _ you'll never get a job if you can't hold your damn tongue. _

Well, she was right.

"I don't think they'd get very far," said the man with his legs up, a smile quick to his lips, "Tamar here's always got a weapon on her, they wouldn't know what hit them."

"Probably an ax." The security girl, Tamar, replied.

"Yes, but how are they to know?"

"It's got a rather recognizable blade"

_ What the actual hell? _

"So, Starkov, is it?" The man said, and it took Alina a moment to register the fact that they had moved on from talk of weapons and back to her.

"Oh- yeah, that's me. Alina. Just call me that." She said, shifting her weight again as she stood.

"Alina," he said, dropping his feet onto the floor and standing, he then put a hand out towards her, as if to shake, "I'm Sturmhond, executive producer at Volkvolny Productions."

Alina crossed the room towards them and shook his hand, and took the opportunity to study his features. There was a scar across his nose, an injury that likely caused a breakage, and left it slightly crooked. His eyes were a light green color, and they seemed to sparkle with something like amusement at everything around him. He gave her hand a firm shake, and cast her a magazine-worthy grin that showed off his perfect white teeth.

_ So that's where all the money's coming from _ .

"Pleasure to meet you," he said as he pulled back his hand, then gestured to the white screen.

"Show us what you've got, Starkov,"

Alina hesitated, glancing back at the intimidating screen then at the man again "I didn't get a script? Maybe the attachments weren't working or something but my agent didn't-"

"There's no script," Sturmhond said, and this time when he smiled she recognized it as a different kind of grin, this one less picture-perfect and more one with a mischievous glint.  _ Like a fox _ , Alina thought, with the red hair and all.

"No script?" She asked, blinking. She had at least expected an improv role or some such, but no script at all? What did they expect her to do,  _ dance _ ?

"No. The film we hope to produce is not your standard kind. Until now, it has no story, no plot, and no characters. We're hoping to base it around the actors themselves, create a story of their own, something to lift their names and personas." He explained, and Alina thought she saw Tamar press a finger to her brow, and had to wonder if this Sturmhond had taken up his genius idea with his crew.

"So you want a story based around… me?" Alina frowned, even as he nodded, "sorry to disappoint, but my life really isn't that interesting."

She tried to imagine a movie about an orphan girl who worked as a mechanic whose best friend wouldn't speak to her, and whose only talent in life couldn't get her very far. Not interesting was an understatement.

Sturmhond laughed good-naturedly and said "it's less about your story and more about you as a person, so just tell us about yourself. Maybe talk about something you strongly believe in? Think of it as a personal statement, but presented instead of written."

"What, like La La Land?" She asked, suddenly picturing herself standing before them singing her heart out. She snorted at the thought, then instantly looked down, regretting the comment.

"If you like, certainly," Sturmhond responded, lips forming yet another kind of grin- this one mildly amused, "that movie was poetic cinema, and if you wish to pull from it for inspiration, you get bonus points from me, personally,"

Alina eyed him. "La La Land was a terrible movie, and I won't sing for you. I'll… I'll tell you a story."

Sturmhond raised his brows but said nothing, gesturing again to the screen. Alina headed for it, her heart suddenly thumping with anticipation. The lights were nearly blindingly bright, but it was almost a relief not to look them in the eye.

She let her eyes close for a moment, and felt her mind bring up images from the past few days, stringing them together the way she had when she was younger, telling stories to the small children, stories about adventurous pirates and sirens with no hearts, stories borne of her imagination, wrung with morals.

This time, when the words left her mouth, it was a story about foxes and wolves, a story where villains with sharp blue eyes who hunted for those with less power got what they deserved. A story about clever creatures finding their way out of nets and emerging from the waves with determined howls, refusing to drown or be drowned out by the world.

By the time she was finished, there were tears staining her cheeks, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest, desperate to break away. She still couldn't see anyone, at least not until a form emerged from between the bright lights, his hands coming together in a slow clap. Alina quickly wiped at her cheeks, feeling her face heat as the high of a story died down. How long has she stood there, telling no one and everyone the thoughts running through her head?

"That was  _ incredible _ ," Sturmhond said, and the grin on his face this time was one of excitement but also something deeper. His eyes looked like they were trying to analyze her, to figure out every detail of that story, to learn their true meaning.

"Thank you," she said, "I hope you'll consider me for the role." For once it wasn't a snarky comment that came to mind. In fact, Alina found herself dreadfully tired, and was longing for the sweet comfort of her bed.

"Of course," he said, "and you still earned those bonus points, despite hating La La Land,"

"I'm not sure how anyone could like it." She replied, shaking her head. Sturmhond cocked his head to the side, watching her curiously.

"Why is that?" He asked.

Alina scoffed. Was this a serious question? Someone, the gangly guy with glasses likely, dimmed the lights around her, leaving bright spots in her vision.

"Because…" she paused. How many times had she and Mal argued over La La Land, and what he thought was symbolism of finding the right person through trial and error. How many times had she stated again and again that the entire story was not about a girl and a boy but about passion warring with love. She shrugged.

"She chose her fame over her love, and he chose her over everything." It was that simple, wasn't it? As great as it had seemed at the time to watch a struggling actress find her way through life, even find someone who loved her enough to encourage her and guide her through it, that's what it all came down to. You couldn't have everything, so you had to choose. Alina simply would have made a different choice. 

"One could argue they never had love, but a shared need for someone to help them up. Once they were on their own feet, and they'd found their way in the world…" Sturmhond's gaze bounced around the room before settling back on Alina's, "it was a question of setting aside fantasy for reality."

"But-" Alina began, more than ready to argue this, when someone at the door cleared their throat, and they both turned to see the blonde woman from earlier. 

"Sturmhond? They're here, should I start sending them in?" She asked, her curious eyes landing on Alina, and she tried to imagine how terrible she looked to everyone else's eyes.

"Yes, go on Nadia," said Sturmhond, before turning back to Alina.

"We'll review the tapes and notify your agent if there are any developments. Until then, have a fantastic evening, Sunshine," he winked at her.

"Sunshine?" Alina asked with a raised brow. Sturmhond shrugged.

"I've never heard a story where the sun has a main role in the plot. I think the nickname suits you anyhow."

Alina shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat slightly. This wasn't flirting, right? And besides, she had someplace to be. Home. Her bed.

She headed for the door.

"Oh, and Alina?" Sturmhond called after her. She stopped, looking back at him. With the lights around him changing the color of his hair to a gold rather than it's red, he almost looked like… no, she was being ridiculous.

"Do give that movie a second chance, will you?" He said, and his grin was back to one she'd seen someplace before, but her tired brain could not pinpoint. She nodded, then turned and left, her thoughts wandering back to the story she'd told, the magazine she'd read, and the jolly young man who loved the movie La La Land. Those are the thoughts that were swimming in her mind when she collapsed onto her bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke again, things would be very different.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another one! It's right after this that things start to get intense, and fast, so bear with me!  
> Enjoy! ~

The sound of her phone ringing melded with her dreams for a few moments before Alina's mind became conscious enough to separate the two. She squinted at the onslaught of light coming in from her bedroom window, then dropped her hand onto her side-table, her eyes sliding shut again as her hand fumbled around for the phone until it landed on a cool metal surface, vibrating intensely. She snatched it up and clicked blindly at the screen.

"Hello?" She mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Who was calling at this ungodly hour?

"Alina- doll, you gotta tell me exactly how this happened- or even better, save it for when you get here I have about a dozen more offers to show ya, and that isn't the last you're gonna hear, either."

Alina blinked.

"Cara?" She asked, her mind trying to make sense of her words.

"Sweetheart, meet me down here in an hour, alright? That video of yours stirred up some real shit."

Now, Alina found herself more awake, sitting up quickly.

"Video? What video?" She asked, but Cara had already shut the phone. Alina glared down at her phone as the call disappeared, and instead showed a screen on the verge of exploding with notifications.

She skimmed through them. Alexei asking where she was, then all-caps messages from him, telling her she did great. People had mentioned her in a few posts on Twitter and Instagram. Alina frowned, clicking on one of the links she'd been sent.

A video opened up, filling her screen with white.

_ No, no, no _ .

At the center, stood… Alina. Her brown hair spilling down her back, a gray t-shirt and jeans on, and her chin lifted towards the camera.

Alina watched, horrified, as her former self began telling a story woven purely of her imagination that seemed to be, now that she thought more closely about it, edging dangerously near some news stories she'd heard. 

She glanced down at the video's details, uploaded by a  _ GSafin _ , not long after she had left the Volkvolny Productions Studio, and it had…

Alina gasped, jolting her phone out of her hand in her surprise, and landing it face-down onto the sheets.

The number of views on there… 

_ Oh, Saints _ .

When Alina arrived at the office, she stood in front of it's door for several moments, biting at the remnants of her thumb's nail in frustration.

A metal office sign that read 'Cara Lauren' reflected lighting off its surface. She reached out a hand and opened the door, not bothering to knock. Cara’s office was meticulously organized, one large desk taking up most of the space, along with a few bookshelves beside it. Behind that was a large window, filling the room with golden light, all the way to the long sofa on the other side, which, few people knew, was actually where Cara slept. 

Cara herself looked up with some surprise at the door, then her face split into a grin when she saw it was Alina. The woman, in her mid-forties perhaps, was smoking a cigarette that filled the room with an odd smell. Her black hair was tied into a high ponytail at the back of her head, and her green eyes were bright with anticipation.

“How did you do that?” she asked, voice filled with wonder, “not once in all my life as an agent have I seen someone get so popular overnight- and due to an audition tape, no less!”

Alina chewed the inside of her cheek. She had come here angry, that was certain, but Cara was so proud of her, and when she thought about it now, a small flutter of excitement started in her chest.

People wanted her for roles. Not just some side character that would be killed by the film’s end, no, real roles. The kind where you saw the actress and, well, you didn’t forget them.

“Holy Saints, Cara, what have I done?” she said, finding her own voice filled with that same wonder. Cara threw her head back with a laugh, no doubt at the change of mood evident on Alina’s face, her hands coming together in an enthusiastic clap, the two fingers clutching her cigar somehow maintaining their hold.

“I'm not sure I get it either, but sit down so we can discuss. There’s a lot.”

Alina nodded, a smile creeping up to her face as she took a seat at Cara’s right, sinking into the familiar worn cushions of her chair. There were files and papers arranged in neat stacks on the dark wooden surface of her desk, and Cara counted them off with a finger before picking up the one closest to her and handing it to Alina. It was a big stack.

“What are these for?” she asked, taking the pile and dropping it onto her lap.

“These are your offers,” Cara said, taking a drag of her cigarette, then putting it out in the small ashtray at her elbow.

Alina startled, looking up, “my what?”

“Messages, emails, scripts… all of them asking for one Alina Starkov,” she raised one penciled brow at Alina, “heard of her?”

Alina’s jaw dropped, she looked down at the stack once again, running her fingers along the side of the papers. There were  _ so many _ .

“Saints…” she whispered, “all for a video?”

“A damn good one,” Cara replied, dropping her chin onto her folded hands.

“Bu why…?” she began, shaking her head- these had to be at least five hundred papers, most of them scripts, but still… 

“Alexander Lantsov, biggest name in the business,” Alina looked back at her agent, who was now rummaging through her desk drawers as she spoke, “also, biggest current scandal in Hollywood.”

She found what she was looking for, and placed it on the desk, obscuring some more files, in front of Alina. A smiling couple looked up from the magazine’s cover, and Alina instantly recognized the hooded blue eyes and the dye-blonde hair.

“Yeah, I heard,” Alina said, frowning, “what does that have to do with me?”

Cara raised an amused brow at Alina, “I watched your video, Alina, and it didn’t take me long to connect the dots. The power imbalance, the bunnies taken advantage of, the sun savior… really, it was obvious.”

Alina felt her face heat, “I didn’t mean to… it was just a story.”

“That’s the beauty of stories,” Cara responded, “they have the power to change us.”

Alina took a deep breath, “so, people want me for these roles because I indirectly commented on this guy’s allegations?”

“No,” Cara said, leaning back in her chair and watching Alina, “they want you because what you said was brave, and they know if they don’t snag you soon, someone else will.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips, “which reminds me- I haven’t even shown you the best part.”

Alina’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she dug it out as Cara went through some more drawers. It was a message from an unsaved number.

**Let’s have lunch. -Sturmhond** .

Alina frowned. Executive producer, casting director, and probably a ton of other titles she did not know, wanted to have dinner. 

“Hey, Cara?” she asked, the woman hummed in response, and Alina turned her phone’s screen so she could read the message.

“And that is…?” she raised her brows in question.

“Sturmhond. From Volkvolny Productions.”

“That’s expected,” Cara said, placing yet another file in front of Alina. “Check this out.”

Alina slipped her phone back into her pocket, looking down. Her jaw dropped.

“Saints,” she breathed, “why would  _ they  _ want me?”

Cara laughed, “because if you’re not on their side, then you’re against them. Smart move.”

“But-” Alina snatched up the file- saints, her dreams had never gotten her this close. Lantsov Productions wanted her. 

“Don’t take it,” Cara said, then nodded at the stack, “you’ve got options now, take your time, they all want you now.” she thought for a moment before adding:

“Not too much time, though, or they’ll move onto someone else.”

Alina shook her head, stunned. “What about the Volkvolny offer?” she asked.

“Do with that one what you will,” Cara replied with a shrug, “it’s up to you.”

Two hours later, still riding the high of her conversation with Cara- or maybe that was the cigarette she had at last conceded to smoking- Alina stepped onto the sidewalk, her heart running a mile a minute, and her thoughts buzzing even faster.

This had been her dream, when she moved here, just a fresh college grad, out of a bad state, out of a bad relationship- and then into a worse place. Two years. Two years she had worked her butt off taking every role that would have her, every single offer, paid or unpaid, just to get her name out there. She'd worked as a barista, and volunteered to tell stories at the children's library before landing at the mechanic shop, where she finally put to use the skills Ana Kuya taught her at a young age.

And now… this. She shifted the tote bag in her hand excitedly. She could have had Cara send her them via email, easy, but this way she got to  _ feel _ how much they wanted her, and feel how many of them did, too.

Something flashed in the corner of her vision, and Alina started, looking back. A little girl, maybe fourteen or younger, held up a phone in her direction. When she noticed that the flash had gone off, she hid it quickly, biting her lip in embarrassment.

Alina looked behind her, then around her. No one else was there. Had something passed her by? Had  _ someone _ passed her by? It was one of the less popular neighborhoods, but… LA was still LA.

"It's you, right?" Said a voice, and Alina jumped again, finding the little girl at her elbow now, looking up at her through thick dark glasses and wide brown eyes.

"M-me?" She sputtered, too surprised to respond properly, her hand clenching the tote bag closer to her chest, as if the girl might snatch it away and take with it everything she had worked for.

"Yes! I saw the video- I love G's videos, and I didn't expect her to post anything from the studio but- wow! You were amazing, and I loved the story- I love reading! And even my mom watched the video because she said it was political but I still-"

She was rambling excitedly now, her words animated with her hands, and her eager mouth showing the metallic glint of braces.

"Woah, woah, kid…" Alina said, and the girl cut herself off, looking up, her face flushing red, "I think you have the wrong person, I don't know what you're talking about."

The girl paused, watching Alina warily, before shaking her head.

"I just wanted to say that what you did was brave. I've been reading the news, I'm not as young as I look and… it isn't okay for him to get away with this. So thank you."

Before Alina could respond, the girl had turned and left, and she was too stunned to go after her.

What had she gotten herself into?

Alina pushed some hair out of her face, watching the girl's form until it disappeared around a corner. She dropped the tote bag onto the floor, letting the heavy weight of the papers hit the cement while she clutched the ribbons holding it.

People recognized her. People knew her face. They thought she was brave, they wanted her for roles.

Just yesterday, her only goal had been to get the Volkvolny job, be it a small one or not, but now… 

Alina's mind returned to the Volkvolny Studios, where it had all started. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before slipping out her phone and shooting a message.

Cara had said it was up to her, and now, she had to make a choice.

Alina was standing outside of a  _ very _ expensive restaurant. It was the kind of place where everyone who parked outside had a Lamborghini and was dressed impeccably, enough to make her pull at the edges of her worn graphic shirt and try to brush her matted hair out with her hands. She must have still looked out of place though, because she got a few odd glances, and someone actually gave her a dollar.

Which she kept.

She had just made eye contact with someone she was sure she'd seen in a movie, and had decided it was time to leave, when her phone buzzed again.  _ Finally! _

**Sturmhond: I'm afraid I can't meet you today.**

Alina glared at the screen for a good few moments, before shoving the tote onto her shoulder and typing out a response.

_ Alina: what, now you're too busy for me? _

**Sturmhond: quite the opposite, Sunshine.**

**Sturmhond: I'm afraid I rank too lowly for such an important visit. I'm sure you've seen your video? You've become most popular.**

Alina frowned.

_ Alina: what does that mean 'rank too lowly'? I thought you were executive something and head of something else. _

**Sturmhond: think of the Volkvolny as a ship. I'm the captain, I guide her, take her where she needs to be.**

**Sturmhond: but the ship's not mine, much as I love her. You'll have to meet her owner.**

Alina shook her head, incredulous. Was he mocking her?

_ Alina: and who the hell is that? _

**Sturmhond: you'll know him when you see him, Sunshine. And he'll know to look for you.**

Alina glared at her phone so hard she was sure it would shatter, before letting out a frustrated groan and shoving it into her jeans pocket.

So now she was supposed to wait until some old guy with a damn Ferrari showed up to talk? She had agreed to see Sturmhond because, despite him being somewhat annoying, she was comfortable around him. But this new person? Saints knew what he would be like.

Alina went back to her people-watching, coming to the realization that it was getting hotter and hotter out there. Her eyes snagged on someone in a dark suit stepping out of an SUV with tinted windows..  _ Saints, _ she thought,  _ what idiot would wear a suit on a day like this? _

She shoved her hair into a ponytail, keeping the sweat from dampening her neck and watched as the man straightened his suit and shut the door.

Her scrunchie was in her mouth when he turned around, and she froze completely, hands in her hair.

_ Saints _ . It was him. Golden hair gleaming under the sunlight, bright hazel eyes searching the street, and an easy smile on his face, as if he already expected there to be cameras on him.

Nikolai Lantsov. He looked like he had stepped straight out of the magazine, down to his shiny black shoes, and his eyes bouncing around casually until they landed somewhere behind her.

Wait, no.

They landed on her.

When he saw she was watching him, he winked, the grin turning cocky. He made his way over to her, casual as ever, eyes never leaving her face. 

"Miss Starkov, I trust?" He asked, folding his hands behind his back, likely because he could tell her own hands were too occupied for a shake.

Alina snapped out of her reverie, snatching up her scrunchie and tying her hair back quickly, messily. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Yes," she said, then, just to see his cocky ass reaction, she added, "and you are?"

His smile widened, his honey-colored eyes twinkling with amusement, "Nikolai Lantsov, I've many titles to my name but the only one that should concern you is Founder of the Volkvolny Productions company."

She looked him up and down, trying to seem unimpressed when her mind was bringing forth snippets of the article she'd read,  _ left the family business to start something of his own _ … she remembered thinking that the place was well off for a new company. 

Saints, this was  _ The _ Nikolai Lantsov. His father was Alexander Lantsov. This guy could literally buy everything she owned with his spare change.

"Oh." She said. He didn't seem ruffled by her reaction, or lack thereof, straightening his back and gesturing to the doors beside them, the fancy restaurant she had been standing in front of for the past hour. 

"Shall we?" Nikolai Lantsov asked her. 

Alina shrugged, then allowed him to lead her inside, her mind running a mile a minute. Saints, if Alexei knew she had come to a place like this without even dressing properly… she smiled at the thought of his reaction.

The host didn't ask for a name, Alina noticed, just smiled at him, tapped a few buttons, then began to lead the way, chattering enthusiastically with Lantsov. Alina followed awkwardly behind as the lady ever-so-subtly flirted with him, brushing his arm as he spoke, pushing her blonde curls out of her face, and walking leisurely.

Alina rolled her eyes, as they passed rich folk who cast her odd glances over the rim of their wine glasses, and, she noted, multiple empty tables and headed to the back, where the chandeliers hung low and the lights were dimmer, to a booth. There was classical music playing, and it blended with the soft talk and clink of glasses.

The woman stopped in front of the furthest booth, adjusting a candle, before turning her blue eyes on Lantsov, lashes fluttering.

"All this for you alone?" She asked. 

To his credit, Lantsov didn't even flinch, just took a step back from her, letting her hand slide off his shoulder, and turning to Alina.

"No, as a matter of fact, I've a date." He said, giving Alina a charming grin.

Alina gave him a tight smile. A what now?

"Oh," the woman clenched her fist at her side, turning to glare daggers at Alina. She looked her up and down then wrinkled her nose with disgust.

"I see," she said, seeing a lot more than Alina would have liked, and making her instantly self-conscious, "I'll grab the menus."

Then she left, heels clipping at the tiled floor.

Alina turned to Nikolai, who was still grinning.

"What the hell?" She said, as he slid into the booth and gestured for her to do the same on the other side.

"Come now, Miss Starkov- Alina, if I may- she already thought as much and it won't do any harm if she kept her distance now."

He looked back at the table in front of him, where dark red napkins were elegantly folded and a small candle shook lightly. Alina slid into the seat opposite him, her mind mentally comparing the soft leather to her own worn sofa at home. Needless to say, this one was far better, and likely much more expensive.

"Yeah, but I'm the one who's food she'll poison." Alina grumbled, and was surprised to see Lantsov laugh. 

He had a rich laugh, the kind that you might hear at a King's banquet. Saints, he looked and sounded like he'd just stepped out of a fairytale.

"We can switch plates if it'll make you feel better," he said, and she was annoyed to see his eyes were once again twinkling with amusement. Saints, was he always like this? Ridiculous. Charming. He was a bit handsome, too, if she wanted to admit it to herself. 

Which she didn't.

"Yeah, sure," she mumbled looking down at the table and hoping the dim lighting would conceal the light flush of her cheeks. Great, so now she was blushing, too? 

"So, Alina." Lantsov said, placing his elbows onto the table and leaning forward. "I take it by now you received some offers?"

_ Some _ . She almost wanted to reach into her tote- which was still hanging on her shoulder- and show him just how many she'd actually gotten. She wondered if he knew that his father's own company had asked for her. The thought filled her with pride.

"And if I did?" She responded now, reminding herself that despite dressing well and charming everyone here, this man needed  _ her _ . She straightened, imitating his stance and folding her hands onto the table.

"I would imagine you did," he said, his eyes reflected the swaying candlelight, searching hers for a second, "obviously, the show you put on was magnificent, I've seen as much myself, and I take it you understand the politics behind it?"

She nodded.

"Right. This puts us in a funny little situation, doesn't it? That story you told, it goes against my father, and his allegations. It emboldens women to speak out against him. It makes him look weak." He paused here, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had expected him to beg her to stay at the Volkvolny, to higher the offer, not… this. Was he defending the man?

As if sensing these thoughts, Lantsov continued, "which is exactly what I want. We're on the same side here, see? I don't much care what my father's fate is at the end of the day. I've left my family business, so my brother will have to live with whatever shame he may bring. But I haven't come to discuss my family issues with you, Alina. I've come to make you a deal."

Alina watched him warily, then said, "a deal?"

"A deal, yes." Lantsov leaned back in his seat, as if he owned the place, then continued, "the story you told displayed many things about your character, and about your views on certain matters, no doubt. But it also displayed your talent. You're an actress, and that's all I'd like you to do. Act. I don't want you taking a stand against my father, nor involve yourself in this mess, not unless you'd like to."

"I don't want to," she said quickly, "it wasn't my intention to begin with, I just wanted the role."

Lantsov canted his head, as if he'd expected as much, "good. So, the role we've chosen for you is a main one. The main one. I'm not sure if you've taken on something quite as large, but I think you're ready for it."

He paused, as if to let his words sink in, "the film's essence is going back to different cultures, mythology of sorts. And you will be playing the Sun Saint."

Alina's eyes widened. She couldn't have hidden her shock if she'd tried. A Saint. The Sun Saint, no less. And a main role? The things this could do for her reputation… 

Just then, two menus were dropped onto the table between them, not gently, and the blonde woman said tightly, "let me know when you're ready to order."

Alina opened the menu carefully, her eyes scanning the numbers before anything else. Such big numbers. Saints, her rent was cheaper than a meal here.

"I'll take my usual- and add whatever the lady would like on my bill." Lantsov said, handing back the menu without glancing at it.

Alina eyed her options now with newfound interest. She skimmed through the numbers once again. The shrimp was highly priced- overly-priced, even for a place like this. She shut the menu.

"I'll take one thing of shrimp and a Dr.Pepper." she said, handing back the menu. She glanced at Lantsov, but he didn't even flinch. Saints, was a price like that normal? Did he even  _ know _ how much it cost?

Either way, Alina vowed to enjoy it as much as possible. The last fancy meal she'd had was a place Mal had taken them to celebrate. The night they broke up. 

"So, what are your thoughts?" Said Lantsov. Alina's gaze snapped up.  _ Shouldn't have ordered that, _ her mind began to instantly think of the worst, but Lantsov was watching her keenly, awaiting a response.

Oh, right. The Sun Saint.

"I…" she paused, as if she hadn't already agreed to it. "I'll have to think on it, as I do have other offers."

_ None nearly as good, _ she thought, and she suspected Lantsov knew as much, but he said nothing. They sat in silence for a while, wherein Lantsov picked up his phone- a new model, with an extra camera at the back for reasons only the saints knew- and scrolled through it for a few moments before setting face-down on the table.

Alina was about to pick up her own phone, perhaps shoot Alexei a text or let Cara know she'd agreed to the Volkvolny deal, but just then their food arrived. Alina watched, clenching her jaw so she wouldn't drool over the table, as the blonde woman set before her an open glass with shrimp arranged around the rim, their tails curling upward, and a tall glass of Dr.Pepper.

In front of Lantsov, she set a glass plate with… a burger, the fancy kind with a toothpick sticking out of the top and the ketchup arranged in swirls on the plate's edge, as well as a glass of sprite.

As soon as the waitress left, Alina couldn't help but snort. Lantsov looked up with surprise.

"Something the matter?" He asked.

"No, but, really? Nikolai I-have-a-million-titles Lantsov comes here and orders a  _ hamburger _ ? Every time?" She laughed again despite herself. What she would do if she had this money.

"I feel I'm missing the joke, which is never a good thing seeing as I live for humor," he said, but a smile twitched at his lips even so. Alina shook her head, grinning.

"You're too rich to order a  _ hamburger, _ " she said.

"Is there a limit on who can and can't? How rude, I hadn't expected such cruelty from a free country." He said, and then reached for a fork and a knife.

"Oh- no, don't you dare!" Alina said, eyes widening. Lantsov glanced up at her, eyebrows raising.

"Am I too rich for the utensils as well, Alina?"

"No! You can't use a knife, that's a hamburger! You eat it with your  _ hands _ , rich boy!"

He shook his head, "can't do that, Sunshine, or I'll dirty my suit," 

He turned back to his food, cutting a little triangle with his knife and then taking a bite with his fork.

Alina might have teased him further, but she was frozen in place, brows furrowed. Had he just..?

_ I think the nickname suits you anyhow. _

She looked back at Lantsov, and with nothing but the candlelight illuminating his features, it darkened his hair, and let his hazel eyes shine almost green. If she were to just crook his nose slightly… 

Oh, saints.

She was gaping at him, open mouthed. Was this some sort of joke? Was she being made fun of?

"I can give you half, if you like, or order a second," Lantsov said without looking up.

Alina shook her head as he took another bite, snatching her phone off the table quickly.

She typed out a quick message and sent it, her heart hammering in her chest. For a moment, nothing happened. And then Lantsov's phone buzzed on the table.

Alina watched him look up, wipe his fingers against the napkin and then pick up his phone. She saw him freeze, then look up at her, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

She'd sent one message.  _ 'Sunshine?' _

She'd sent it to Sturmhond.

"Ah," said Lantsov, recovering. He set aside his phone. "I see."

She quirked a brow at him, letting her own phone fall onto her lap, "so do I."

He looked at her with something new, the same amusement as before but now he also looked… impressed. Not that she cared, of course. It was just an observation.

"So, captain, owner…" she said, quoting the message Sturmhond had sent her, "do you dress up and play every member of the crew as well? I thought I was the actress here."

Nikolai laughed, but it was a dry laugh, lacking his previous princely richness, and said, "no, just the one. I… hoped you would find out in time."

"That you prefer being ginger?" She asked, raising a brow.

"No, Alina, that my company is a secret this far." He said wearily, his shoulders sagging slightly as if he'd just rid himself of a heavy burden. "No one can connect me to the Volkvolny- not yet. Not until this mess with my father is dealt with or he'll drag me down with him."

Alina chewed the inside of her cheek, watching him, the way his hazel eyes seemed to dim, and the candlelight made him jump between one persona and the next.

"I get it," she said at last, burying the slight stab of betrayal she had felt. Betrayal over what? She hardly knew him.

"I'm sure you don't," Lantsov replied, "but thank you for understanding."

"I  _ do _ get it, Lantsov, believe it or not, poor people have family issues as well. Now eat your burger."

Lantsov looked momentarily surprised, then laughed a lighter laugh, shaking his head and taking a bite of his food. 

"Nikolai," he said, "I think you know me too well to go by Lantsov now."

She agreed.

  
It was interesting, how many times she looked back at that lunch. How many times she thought  _ there _ . That's where it all changed. But perhaps that had been before, perhaps it had been directly after. All she knew was that from the moment Nikolai Lantsov stepped into her life, under whatever name he chose, it all changed completely, and irreversibly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's been in the drafts for some time now and I really missed them so here's an update !!

“I thought you said this was just a reading,”

The girl, Genya, she said was her name, was raising a small brush and angling it dangerously close to Alina’s eye. Alina was leaning back as far as the chair would allow her, entrapped by the setup of the screwed-to-the-floor chair, the table at her right, and the gorgeous girl nearly stabbing her eye out.

She suspected this was how Genya cornered all her victims, lured them in with a sweet smile and compliments they probably never heard before.  _ Such beautiful eyes, Alina!  _ and  _ The things I would do if I had those lips.  _ Alina was not vain in the least, but still, when someone as beautiful as Genya gave you attention, well, you took what you could get.

“It  _ is _ ,” she consented now, her amber eyes meeting Alina’s, “but one can never be  _ too  _ prepared”

Alina raised a brow at the girl as she returned her attention to slathering Alina’s face and dusting her eyes with all forms of powders and substances she could never understand.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone, Genya, that’s plenty as it is,” she said, words barely coming out as Genya turned her attention to her lips, dabbing at them with a red that was dangerously bright.

She snorted, “we’re all trying to impress  _ someone _ , sweety,” then handed Alina a paper towel folded in half. 

“Pop your lips on that,” she said, taking a step back to admire her work. Alina did as she was told, awkwardly pressing her lips to it and marking it with a picture-perfect kiss.

“Now,  _ that  _ is saintly,” Genya said, tossing her red hair over her shoulder proudly. Alina turned to face the mirror and her jaw dropped. She had had makeovers before, for some of the earlier plays she had done back when Mal could get them both roles by sweet-talking one of the script-writers- he often got the main roles, and she was left with playing handmaiden or even crazy aunt- but Genya’s work was nothing like any of those.

She had somehow brought color to Alina’s pale cheeks, given her face angles and hidden away the dark circles that often stained the spot just beneath her eyes.

Genya met her eyes in the mirror, taking a step forward, a smug smile on her lips. 

“I know, I’m amazing,” she said. Well, she wasn’t wrong. She took a second to admire Alina’s face with her before picking up a strand of hair and eyeing it wistfully.

“I can’t do anything with it when its like this, Alina,” she said bitterly, “If you would just let me dye-”

“No!” Alina said, seizing the opportunity and leaping out of the chair before Genya could do anything else. Genya only rolled her eyes.

“I’m only trying to help you, Alina,” then, a small smirk tugging at her lips, “besides, I happen to know he likes blondes.”

Alina frowned, “who does?”

Genya rolled her eyes again, “oh, fine, you don’t want to talk about it.” 

Alina’s frown deepened, “Genya, who?”

Genya picked up a towel that had been hanging on the side of the chair and folded it, looking annoyed. “You know it isn’t fair to keep me out of the loop when you and I will be spending so much time together. I live for the gossip, Alina”

Alina felt the way she had when Mal decided to break up with her, still wrapped in his arms with the first rays of sunlight streaming into their shared one-bedroom apartment. 

Confusion, first. Irritation. Then, anger.

“Genya for Saints’ sake, what are you talking about?” she snapped. 

Genya looked up curiously at her sharp tone, before fishing something out of what must have been her purse, resting on a cushioned chair beside another makeup table. She pulled out a phone, the cover decorated with red gemstone that looked uncomfortable to the touch, swiped a few screens then silently handed it to Alina.

Alina took it, frowning. The screen showed a picture of her, sitting down at an expensive, dimly-lit diner, her hair tied into a messy ponytail. All that could be seen from the person across from her was his head of golden hair.

The title, all caps, running over the picture new exactly who that was:

LANTSOV BETRAYAL! CAN LOVE CONQUER ANY FEUD?

Alina froze, her finger hovering just above the words as they sank in.

Genya seemed to notice this and reached for the phone, “oh, I thought you knew about this- Nikolai seemed to, so I figured-”

Alina’s finger tightened on the phone, and before Genya could grab for it again, she turned and stormed straight out of the room.

She was right. The stages had always been the same.

Confusion.

The doors seemed to blur together as she moved from one building to the other, passing up Tamar and Tolya, who both took surprised steps back.

Irritation.

Nadiya called out a greeting, then seemed to realize where Alina was headed and leapt out of her seat, “Miss Starkov, you can’t go in there, Sturmhond is in a meet-”

Anger.

The door flew open under her touch, slamming loudly against the room’s wall. The room was empty save David, a man she had never seen before, and Nikolai, sitting in his stupid chair behind his stupid desk in his stupid office.

He raised a brow at her.

“Can I help you, Miss Starkov?”

“What,” Alina said quietly, “the  _ fuck _ , Lantsov?”

Nikolai continued smiling pleasantly, but the new guy jumped to his feet, glancing at her nervously. “I-I should go.”

“Do get back to me with your answer, Mister Bane,” Nikolai responded politely. The man practically ran out.

“You can’t keep scaring off out investors, Sunshine,” Nikolai said, leaning back in his chair and watching her through green lenses. 

“Technically, he was only the advisor, and I believe you scared him away with your numbers.” David said helpfully from where he was seated on one of the guest chairs.

Alina did not even look at him, she went straight to Nikolai’s desk and dropped the phone in front of him, screen tilted for his view.

Nikolai glanced at it passively, before raising a brow at her, “did you steal Genya’s phone?”

“Don’t be evasive, Lantsov, answer the fucking question.” At this, Nikolai winced, sitting up straighter and glancing at the door meaningfully. 

Keeping up appearances.  _ Always  _ keeping up appearances.

“David, why don’t you take this back to Genya? If you’d taken away her oxygen she’d last longer.” Nikolai said, handing the phone to David, who took it and shut the door behind him.

Now that they were alone-

“What the-”

“- _ fuck, Lantsov? _ Yes I heard. So did half the hall, I think,” he said, leaning back in his chair again, his hair, once more sprayed red, did not quite catch the light the way his natural golden strands tended to. Alina was too angry to notice that.

“I can be louder,” she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t doubt that,” he replied with a wink, which only made her angrier.

“For Saints’ sake, Lantsov, explain.” she snapped, “Genya said you knew about this. What are you going to do? What are  _ we  _ going to do? Saints, they think we’re in love!”

“Is that such a terrible prospect?” Nikolai said. And maybe it was because her mind had spiraled into thoughts about being stalked by paparazzi wanting to know what Nikolai’s hair looked like when he woke up, or maybe because she had just accepted the fact that she was wanted by dozens of production companies, but Alina let out a surprised laugh. And then another.

“You wound me,” Nikolai said, placing a hand over his heart in a mockery of pain. Alina dropped into a seat, letting her head fall into her hands.

“Saints,” she said when her laughs had died down and she could speak again.

“Don’t trust them,” Nikolai warned seriously, “I hear they mock innocent men who seek their attention,”

“I’m not mocking you, Nikolai, I’m just…” she frowned, “you were joking, weren’t you?”

“The wound or the Saint part? Because my wound is very real.” he said, but his posture had changed, and so had his tone. Leaning forward, twisting a pen between two fingers, he looked more ready to sign a contract than crack a joke.

“The… I mean it's  _ bad _ . You are going to help me, aren’t you? You’re going to stop these rumors?” Alina found herself anxiously leaning forward as well, more nervous than she ought to be. Rumors came and went, but she had already entangled herself with the Lantsovs enough as it was.

“In a way, yes, you are correct,” he said, canting his head in agreement, but just as Alina opened her mouth to say something else, he raised a hand and continued. “ _ However _ , you aren’t seeing the full picture, either.”

Without another word, he slipped out his phone, clicked around a bit then slid it across the desk in her direction. It was a different article, this one dated less than a week back, just around the time when she’d accepted Lantsov’s offer. The picture was a screenshot, likely, from the video of her’s that had gone viral. She frowned.

“The video. What about it?” she asked, looking up. Nikolai took back the phone, shutting it.

“My father’s case is getting more attention now, thanks to your video. He has a court date, and there are women who have previously worked for him that are stepping forward, and speaking out against him. They want you there, as well.”

Alina gaped at him, “you can’t be serious- I never even worked for him, my word won’t mean a thing.”

“Exactly. It may be that my father specifically has requested you to be present, knowing you have no place to be, or perhaps the court did for other reasons, who knows? The point is they wanted you there.” his green eyes were bright as he spoke, as if the hazel was trying to break through the lenses, and Alina found herself momentarily distracted as she tried to remember exactly what shade they had been.

“I don’t want to go, not if it will take away the small chance these women have of justice.” she said quietly, her hands fisting in her lap. 

“Neither do I,” Nikolai responded, “but you won’t have to- at least not any longer. If, as everyone believes, you and I are together, then you become a biased source, in favor of the Lantsov family, which obviously is not allowed.”

“And if I’m not, then they’ll expect me to be there.” she finished, her head swimming. Something occurred to her then, “But why would you agree to that? It doesn’t do you any good.”

Nikolai grinned at that, “actually it does me all the good in the world. You see, with all this going with my father, they’ll be watching him, and my brother and I along with him. They’ll also be tracking my father’s money, to ensure no hush money is given out before the hearing.”

Alina recalled David saying the advisor had been scared away by Nikolai’s numbers. The advisor for… an investor.

“And they’ll track it straight here,” she said, as her mind made the connection. Volkvolny Productions could only have one source of money, and that source was currently at risk.

“Exactly. This little turn of events, however, gives us more time to find investors. If we can turn the public eye on a nonexistent relationship, we can fix a few things behind the scenes. When the Volkvolny’s secret comes out, not long from now certainly, it will be under my terms, and hopefully it will be completely disconnected from the Lantsov name.”

Alina let his words sink in. She had watched dozens of scandals get swept under the rug. Money, power, fame. It was all these men needed to get away with their crimes. There had been rumors for years about the Lantsov company- even back when Nikolai’s father was just gaining a name in the production industry.

But he’d been good with the cameras, better with the people. Not unlike his son.

“This would higher the chances of your father losing the case, wouldn’t it?”Alina asked after a moment.

“Most likely, yes” 

“Why would you want that for your family?” she asked. Nikolai looked surprised at the question.

“You’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the man, Sunshine” he said with a dry laugh. Alina frowned.

“Still, he’s your father, doesn’t that count for something?” Alina insisted, uncertain why she was so persistent. 

Nikolai gave a thoughtful hum, “hardly,” he said, then his gaze returned to her, imploring, “now, what do you say?”

She gaped at him for a moment, wondering how many other secrets were hidden within the man seated in front of her, and how many would she learn in time. 

_ Not like you have much of a choice _ , a voice in her head reasoned. She hated that voice a little, more so that it sounded suspiciously like her childhood best friend Mal. 

“Saints,” she breathed finally, “what the hell?”

The reading went by relatively smoothly, about fifteen other actors she didn’t recognize filling the long tables set in the shape of a rectangle, and somehow, by some strange twist of fate, she had the lead role.

The scripts were still in the first drafts, with Tolya- the security guard, who had apparently co-written the script- making some minor adjustments every once in a while. And Alina had to admit that it was a pretty solid story, with a great cast as far as she could tell.

By the end, she was brimming with barely contained excitement and just about ready to burst with it when Nikolai approached her again.

“Enjoying the fame, Sunshine?” he asked, but there was a proud tilt to his lips and she had the strangest desire to throw her arms around his neck in excitement. But he hadn’t led her here, and they weren’t exactly the closest of friends, so she settled for a wide grin instead.

“It isn’t too shabby,” she admitted, with a half shrug.

“Oh, come now, you’re practically glowing with excitement!” and he was grinning too, brows raised and hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “And well-earned, too, congratulations.”

She rolled her eyes, even as heat rose to her cheeks at the compliment, “is this you trying to be a good boyfriend?”

“I’ll have you know I make a  _ fantastic  _ boyfriend,”

“Only time will tell,” she replied with a laugh, heart still light with fresh enthusiasm. Nikolai’s expression turned more serious, and his not-quite-green eyes were back on her.

“About that,” he glanced behind her once, almost nervously. They were outside, most of the cast having left a half hour ago, and there didn’t seem to be anyone save them in the space. “We need to announce it. Officially, I mean.”

And just like that her excitement died down. Ah yes, the mess that was her life returning once again to terrorize her. They hadn’t discussed much about their fake relationship since that morning when she’d confronted him about the news article.

She turned her attention to a loose string on the edge of her t-shirt and shrugged, “go ahead, then,”

Nikolai was silent for a moment, which struck her as odd enough that she looked up and found him watching her, expression thoughtful.

“How are you getting home?” he asked. Whatever she had been expecting, that had not been it.

“I’ll probably take a taxi,” she replied, frowning. “Why?”

Nikolai shook his head turning away from her, “come, I’ll drive you.”

He began walking in the direction of what must have been his car, not glancing back to make sure she followed. And she did.

“You don’t have to-” she started, but Nikolai waved her off, slowing his steps so she could catch up to him.

“Let this be proof that I do, in fact, make a great boyfriend,” he said, punctuating his words with a wink. Alina shook her head, he really could be insufferable sometimes. 

They reached a red convertible that somehow managed to make every other car in the parking lot look as though it belonged in a dismantling yard. Not unlike the man itself, the thing seemed to outshine everything around it. She cut him a glare.

“I thought you were supposed to be undercover,” she grumbled, nodding at the very flashy car he had brought along. Nikolai looked surprised, light brows drawing together in a frown.

“I am,” he said, as though it were obvious, “This is my Sturmhond car, not the Lantsov one.”

She rolled her eyes, “and they’re both sons to rich industries, are they?”

He brought a hand to rub the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish before admitting, “I hadn’t considered that.”

Alina snorted, but spared him her snark this time. Nikolai reached into his right pocket, then his left before frowning and patting at the back and front of his pants.

He sighed, looking back at the Volkvolny building, “seems I’ve forgotten my keys, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alina raised a brow as he turned and began walking away, “I’m putting a mark on your boyfriend record, sir,”

Nikolai turned around so he was walking backwards and shot her a perfect grin, pearl-white teeth on display, and called out, “Maybe I was distracted by my radiant company.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile lingered on her face.  _ If nothing else, this will make for a memorable experience _ , she thought, as he turned back and began jogging up towards the building. She watched him disappear, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

Alina tilted her head toward the sky, leaning back against Nikolai’s car in thought. The last rays of sunlight were quickly disappearing, leaving the sky with a blue slowly edging towards indigo, and she caught the faintest twinkle of emerging stars.

She had long since given up on her wild dreams of fame and fortune, until eventually the longest lasting fantasy was a new pair of shoes and money enough for the rent, but now her future held so much hope. Mal had liked that, hope. He’d always said those born into the worst life could offer had it made up for them later, and for the first time in a long time, Alina thought he might be right.

Maybe there  _ was _ more. More to her small, small life, more to the bitter memories she carried with her. Maybe… 

She was snapped out of these thoughts as someone stepped on a leaf and crunched it, and her eyes found Nikolai, who was putting away his phone with a soft smile, watching her with interest.

"Ready to go, Sunshine?" He asked, clicking a button on his keys that made the car light up behind her.

"Lead the way."

_ Everyone they say that we don't work, but I could swear this is heaven, yeah. _

The song blasting out of Nikolai’s radio made Alina throw her head back in laughter. Nikolai stopped lyp syncing long enough to shoot her a surprised look.

“What?” he asked, raising a brow at her, his eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. 

“First La La Land and now this?” she snorted despite herself, “Nikolai Lantsov, you’re nothing but a hopeless romantic,”

He barked out a laugh, looking genuinely surprised, enough that she wondered if most people just went along with the stranger aspects of Nikolai’s personality. Though, she had to admit the song was almost nice. One of the few that didn’t instantly make her think of Mal and what they used to have.

“You wound me, Sunshine,” he said, one hand clutching at his heart in mock despair as the other ran smoothly over the steering wheel, coaxing the car into a swift right turn. 

“What, they didn’t have a bigger cinematic variety at Stanford?” she asked with a raised brow, then winced as Nikolai’s gaze swept over her with mild interest, the green too dark for the bright amusement his eyes seemed to always hold.

“Someone’s been doing her homework,” he said, returning his focus to the road, a movement Alina was grateful for as her cheeks heated. She had, in fact, gone back and did a bit of background research into the mysterious Nikolai Lantsov- who, of course, had his own Wiki page, and plenty of articles revolved around him, even as a child.

“Just a little background,” she muttered, averting her gaze though he wasn’t actually looking at her. 

“Find anything interesting?” he asked, not seeming too concerned with the fact that she’d Googled him. Maybe it was a regular occurance with the women he dated. Or fake dated. Was that bit a regular occurrence too? She realized no article would tell her whether any of his relationships had actually been fake, and then realized just how little she actually knew about him.

Still, some of it had to be true, right?

“Just your basic rich kid stuff,” she replied, shrugging. She hesitated a moment before adding, “although I did wonder… why did you drop your acting career?”

He huffed a laugh before responding, “I found my talents lay elsewhere.”

There was a strange edge to his voice that told her there was more to it, but she suspected no amount of Google or prying would give her that answer. It was strangely comforting, that he was just as human as her, that he had just as many secrets, as many hidden pains.

Something in her chest tightened at the idea that perhaps, over time, she would learn more about him, that he might be willing to share a little more with her as they worked together.

Saints, what were the standards for fake dating? Did they even go on dates, or was it all for show? Should she ask him? Google it later?

Could they somehow track her internet history and discover the truth?

A pounding had begun in the back of her head, and as Nikolai pulled up to the sidewalk just across her apartment, fatigue began to claw at Alina. She thought momentarily to invite him in, but berated herself. Whatever this was, whatever it would be, it was just for the cameras. And there were no cameras in her home.

_ That you know of, _ that ridiculous voice in her head replied. Alina silenced it.

“Well, Sunshine, it seems our little trip is over,” said Nikolai, sighing as he leaned back against his seat, throwing an easy grin her way. “Though I wish terribly that it had been longer,” 

Alina rolled her eyes, wondering if her face was heating anew or if that was leftover blush from the last comment he’d made. Saints, did he really have such a strong effect on her?

“I think I’ve heard enough bad music for one day,” she replied, clicking open the door- which slid open with a smoothness that startled her, and stepping out. 

Then, remembering suddenly, she whipped her head back and knocked on the window twice. Nikolai raised a brow but let it slide down for a moment, ducking slightly so she could catch his eye when she spoke.

“When are we…” she hesitated, not quite sure how to ask, “how do you want to announce it?”

A grin spread over his features and he pulled back, “already taken care of.”

And then the window was shut and Nikolai’s bright red convertible- far too flashy for her small neighborhood, was disappearing down the empty street.

She frowned. What on earth did  _ that  _ mean?

Her phone vibrated in her pocket as Alina stepped into her building, the smell of paint and something rotten greeting her. She pulled it out as it vibrated again, and again. Her internet had been slow all day, and it must have only just connected, but that amount of notifications for the few hours she’d been gone was still odd. She clicked the peeling elevator button and pulled back to check what she’d missed.

_ Oh, Saints and stars above. _

She’d been tagged in a single picture on Instagram, and her heart fluttered when she opened the notification. It was her, but not quite. She’d forgotten that Genya had done her makeup earlier, and she touched her lips now to confirm that the picture told no lies.

But no, there she stood, leaning comfortably against a bright red convertible, her gaze trained on the dimming sky and a small, thoughtful smile on her face.

The only description on it was a single heart and the words  _ ‘my sunshine’ _ posted by one  _ nlantsov _ .

What had she gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments fuel me <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, please leave kudos and a comment (they really make my day)  
> Stay safe!  
> ~


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